A World of Difference
by Raelynn Black
Summary: A single change can cause a world of difference. Harry Potter and his Soul-Siblings will learn this first-hand, and their world will never be the same. Prepare for all your preconceived notions to go up in flames. Creature-Fic. AU/OC/HP/slight crossover, but not enough to count. HP/OC's.


Author's Note:

This will be an AU Harry Potter fic with many other elements mixed in. There will be OC's…but also many supporting Harry Potter characters that I have taken creative license to…add to and gave a more central roll to. I hope that I have written it so they are understandable and you will come to love all of them as I have. I can guarantee this will be unlike any other FF you've ever read!

There will be a slight crossover with the Twilight Universe…HOWEVER, it will not be a main focus. There are simply some characters that I felt fit right into this story (namely the Quileute Wolf Pack and the elemental vampire, Benjamin).

_Pairings so far: HP/OCs, RW/DM/OC?, JP/LP, SB/RL, NL/BZ/OC, SF/DT, OC/OC, SS/GG/OC, RR/OC, HH/OC, and others_

I will accept comments and suggestions, but I will not accept Flames or Flamers. Thank you!

**WARNING: There is the implication of rape in this chapter, but it is **_**not**_** explicit, so there will not be any other warning for it.**

So here is the first prologue. It does have Harry Potter characters…but they are deliberately renamed and set in a different time. I will let you try to guess who they actually are!

Caecilius Octavius glared at the wall nearest him, hatred burning in his veins as he studied the painted structure. Depicted boldly for anyone to see was the naked figure of a reclining man, his wrists tied to a post above his head as an equally naked woman rode him like a steed. The painting was vivid, colorful, promiscuous, and already it had attracted they eyes of the city. The day of its completion, people from the highest class to the lowest had flocked to witness its unveiling. Compliments had been given to the artist, and even more to the woman who had commissioned the work.

And although he found the piece unseemly, that was not what drew his ire this day. No, what caused his rage to boil through his blood was the image of the bound man—a man who's features faced the observer and was clearly the focus of the painting. Curly black hair was splayed around his shoulders in a disgustingly wonton way. Black eyes that were wide with need. A long, muscular body that was laid bare for all to see.

His body! His eyes! His face! Blatantly, blatantly him in every form and feature! And the woman who's painted body so disgustingly dominated above his image? Julia Felix. His owner. His mistress. The woman who had claimed him as a pet from his first moments in this city and had paraded him like a prized bull through the streets at every opportunity, waving him under the noses of her jealous counterparts and flaunting his all-but-bare body at every party she insisted on throwing. He was her prize, her greatest triumph, her slave.

And now, she had finally made her intentions towards him clear for all to see. Two years in her household and today he would be summoned to her bed like the many others before him. He had watched as proud men of rank entered her chambers, he had watched merchants of some repute and a sailor or two enter her rooms, all to exit looking as though the gods had showered them with the greatest gift given to man. There were even a few servants and slaves that had been summoned to her rooms, to leave with airs of superiority that they wore for days afterwards, lording their imagined power over their counterparts.

Caecilius had pitied them, sneered at them, laughed at them. To weaken themselves and crawl like grubs upon the ground for so—insignificant a woman. Why! She was nothing more than a rich, well-bred whore! Why should any man lower himself to groveling for a chance to enter her bed? True, she was generally thought to be one of the most attractive women in Pompeii, and she was one of the wealthiest and most influential women in their city…but what was that to the point?! Her attitude and personality were more than enough to drive any wise man miles away from her.

Perhaps it was his distain and disgust of her, carefully hidden behind a cold, neutral exterior that had been the cause of it all. Caecilius and Caecilius alone had managed to peak the insufferable woman's attention to a point where she had commissioned the city's most renowned artist to paint a wall of her own personal dwellings with the portrait he now looked at. She had spent months flaunting herself before him in an attempt to seduce him, and now she had ordered him to her rooms that day. The ugly creature had even gone so far as to order him a bath with all the oils and perfumes a rich man normally sported, as well as instructed several servants to help him prepare for their union.

Caecilius' face blackened with rage and his fist connected brutally with the portrait. The dull sound of flesh striking stone was emphasized by a thunderous rumble from Vesuvius, causing Caecilius to turn and stare at the mighty mountain of fire. It had been sending up warning signs for the past few days, but the arrogant people of the city had ignored them, believing Vulcan would protect them.

"Slave, my mistress calls."

Ice filled Caecilius' veins and he slowly turned to look at Julia's most trusted man-servant. The stoic idiot waited for him to come nearer, then turned and led him back into the house and up to their mistress's chambers. He was left at the door, and the poison-laden voice of the bane of his existence called out for him to enter. The room faced away from the sun and was therefore bathed in shadows, but the bed in the center of the room was lit by several oil-bowls that rested on the tables and floor.

Julia was reclining on the bed, her garments mostly undone in a way she must have thought was provocative and inviting. Instead, Caecilius had to force down bile as he came closer, making sure to keep his face as impassive as ever. His dark eyes quickly took in the wisps of fabric clearly meant to bind his arms and legs to the bed during her—seduction of him.

"Come to me, Caecilius," she crooned, drawing her fingertips over the bed coverings next to her, her disgusting eyes never leaving him as he came to a stop next to the bed. She smirked and sat up languidly, her fingers reaching to unbind his tunic. His entire body stiffened in rebellion, and his mind was lost to disorder.

An ear-splitting boom and a teeth-chattering roar brought him back to reality, as the ground began to tremble. Julia screamed and most of the house below joined in the chorus. Something rose up in Caecilius—a feeling of release and freedom. Having been born into slavery, it was a heady sensation he had never known that caused him to rock back on his feet at the power of it. Despite the panicked screams of the woman next to him, a slow smile crossed his lips. On the other side of the room, the shadows seemed to flutter, then twist towards him like the snakes in the gardens he had tended as a child.

There was another deafening roar and suddenly the air was superheated, filled with ash that immediately smothered those in its path. Julia uttered one last scream, choked, then collapsed back onto the bed, her eyes forever wide with fear and her body forever laid bare in her failed attempt at seduction. A wall of ash covered her prone body before sweeping through the room and causing the door-hangings to erupt into flame as they came into contact with the superheated material.

All of this Caecilius did not see. The shadows had snatched him up—snatched him away—protected him from the wrath of the elements, never to be seen in the doomed city again.

Head Librarian Cyril bit his lip as a bout of uproarious laughter filtered through the hallways towards him. There were several inappropriate calls in answer to the laughter, a low rumble to murmurs, then more laughter.

Caesar's troops had entered the city days before, and his soldiers and men had helped themselves to the luxuries Alexandria had to offer. Most of the men preferred to hole themselves up in the brothels and taverns, but a few who fancied themselves "scholars" (including Caesar himself) had taken to spending parts of their days in the famed Library. They showed no respect for the other library patrons, and instead loudly commented on scrolls and works that they "read". Their comments were largely inappropriate and unappreciative, causing Cyril's hackles to rise.

Even worse, most of the men had taken to ogling him whenever he couldn't manage to avoid them. One or two had even propositioned him, much to his ire. As a youth, he had bound himself to the ideals of the chaste, and had chosen this position as a librarian so he would never have to face the possibility of entering into a relationship. In only a few years, his dedication to learning and to the Library itself had paid off and he had been given the position of Head Librarian (the youngest in history).

But it was Julius Caesar's attentions that caused him much embarrassment and anger. The man was married, for Athena's sake! And to a woman! The very thought of defiling his vows with such a man (no matter how influential he was) sickened Cyril, and was the main reason he went to such extremes to hide from him and his men when they came. The other librarians had simply laughed at his plight, a few of them even going so far as to suggest (in whispers amongst themselves) that he release himself from his vows while the man was here, just to get him to stop haunting the place. After all, one of them had said spitefully to the others, perhaps a good romp was what the Head Librarian needed to humble him.

Cyril's anger had exploded and several personal items in his room hadn't survived. He never allowed his fellow librarians to know that he had heard them that day, and instead continued to avoid Caesar and his men to the best of his ability. Presently he was hiding in one of the lesser-visited scroll-rooms, sorting through several works that had been replaced out-of-order. Caesar and his men were safely on a lower floor, and would be leaving soon as mid-day was nearing. Or so he thought.

So lost was he in his work that Cyril didn't hear the brush of the door-hangings being misplaced, nor did he hear the soft foot-falls approaching him until it was too late. Strong, clamp-like arms encircled his waist and shoulders, and hot, rancid breath against his ear caused the scrolls to fall from his nerveless fingers. With a shout he attempted to wrench himself away, but the steel-like arms tightened their grip. He jerked his head around, attempting to see his attacker, and spotted several of the lesser librarians sneaking away from the doorway, the smirks on their faces visible before the hangings swung back into place. He turned his head further and found himself looking up into a familiar face.

"Release me," he hissed, glaring at the offending man. Caesar half-smirked, half-sneered at him, and the arm around his waist loosened to allow his hand freedom to roam. Cyril's eyes widened and he gave a shocked cry as thick fingers came into contact with his privates. Realizing what was happening, fear lashed at his brain and he began to struggle violently against his attacker. Caesar only laughed, pushing his hips against the struggling bottom. Cyril froze in horror as he felt the evidence of the man's interest in him.

"Just rest, little one. Let someone take care of you for once. With your beauty and mind, I am surprised no one has claimed you before this," the older man commented nobly, his hands tearing at Cyril's garments and pulling them away from his body. Eyes wide with fear, he tried once more to struggle away, only to find himself pushed to the floor with a much heavier body resting over his own. The air rushed out of his lungs with a defeated sob, and the man above him gave a depraved chuckle.

"You will love this, little one. I flatter myself when I say that all of my lovers go away satisfied. You will as well."

Hands found bare skin and took delight in bruising it. Slimy, fat lips followed the bruised trails, adding copious amounts of cold saliva to the wounds. Then the disgusting fingers curled around a part of him that had Cyril sobbing for an early death to save him from this torture. More fingers prodded an unmentionable part of his body and bile rose into his throat, threatening to choke him.

"Caesar! The Egyptian navy has been spotted just off the coast! They intend to cast anchor in the Alexandrian Port!"

Caesar's man skidded to a stop as he saw what he had intruded upon, but his news had the desired effect on the Caesar, who jumped off his victim with a curse, quickly straightened his robes, and rushed out after his flustered companion.

Cyril lay where he had been left, hot tears streaming down his face. He didn't move when two of his fellow librarians came by to check on him, then went away laughing. He didn't move when shouts and screams began to rise up outside the Library, quickly rising to panicked levels. He didn't move when the crackle of burning wood filtered into the upper levels of the library and the tortured screams of the other librarians began.

He didn't even move when the fire began to consume the door-hangings, the smoke and heat curling around his body like a loving embrace. Seconds later, the flames consumed his defeated body as the floor beneath him caved to the ground below.

Phia waved cheerfully as the old woman walked away from her, down towards the main town. She watched until the lady was out of sight, then turned and walked back into her temple. Servants and priests scurried around her, bowing respectfully or giving her nods before going about their business. Walking to the very heart of the temple, she pushed the hangings away that guarded her personal chambers from the rest of the building.

The soothing sound of trickling water caused her to sigh happily as she sank down into her pillow-lined resting area. Few would believe it, but the life of an oracle was not as easy as everyone believed. It took a lot of effort to see a future, and even more to look specifically into ones future for requested answers. That old woman had only wanted to know if her son would survive the next war, but channeling that information had taken a lot out of Phia, making her grateful that it was her last meeting of the day.

She had always loved her talent, and the ability to bring joy and comfort to those who had good futures. True, the downside of seeing dark futures sometimes made her wonder if it was worth it, but meetings like today, with that woman, gave her hope that her talent truly was for the good of her people.

"You have done it again."

Phia sighed and opened her eyes, looking narrowly at the male who had intruded on her privacy. Apollonius was one of the younger priests, only older than her by eight years. Upon her arrival at the temple, he had taken it upon himself to become a sort of mentor to her—although his idea of mentor was like that of a father guarding his daughter from anything unsavory. He never gave up a chance to chide her, and often invaded her private times to lecture her on how an oracle should act.

"You let her go without payment."

Phia allowed her head to drop back against the pillows, rolling her eyes. She rarely demanded payments from her "meetings", happy to help those she could without the added stress of what they would owe her at the end.

"Your predecessor always made sure to take fair payments for her meetings, often requesting my opinion as to…"

"My predecessor slept with almost every male and female client she had, including His Royal Majesty on the night of his wedding," she interrupted. Apollonius narrowed his eyes at her and his mouth tightened. Perhaps at one time he had been handsome, but now his arrogance and pride had washed everything but pinched looks and thin cheeks from his face.

"She honored the gods by accepting the payments she was offered. I can't tell you how many complaints we have had to soothe due to your refusal to accept payments."

"You mean my refusal to sleep with fat old men that slobber over me in their dreams," she retorted dryly, stretching out her aching muscles and gazing out the window above her to determine how long they had before the sun went down.

"You are testing their patience with us. Your gift is falling out of favor. You have all but prophesized that we will lose the next great war and His Majesty is already looking for another possible Oracle he can import in from foreign lands."

"What would you have me do? Sweeten their ears with falsehoods? Disregard the truth I have Seen for the lies they wish to hear? When they return in defeat after believing they would have an easy victory, my head would be the first to roll!" She snapped, finally meeting his gaze. She recoiled when she realized how close he had come, crouching down next to her nest of pillows and blankets, his hands resting near her hip.

"You could start by softening your premonitions of death with the soothing feel of your body. The Oracle's body is a warmth rarely felt by men, and we hunger for it. The more you deprive us of it, the more we lust after it. Give it to us, and we stop asking. We stop complaining, and we calm," he murmured, his voice taking a tone unlike any she had heard from him before. Her skin crawled as his clammy fingers brushed over her bare arm, and his face drew ever closer to her own, until his breath was washing over her lips like a putrid stench. She recoiled, he followed.

"We, all of us, have waited so long for you to collect the payments we offer. We can wait no longer. You must collect, or the gods will visit their wrath on us. Lie still, oracle. Let me pay."

Horror rose in Phia's chest as she finally realized of what nature the "payments" he spoke of were; but it was too late.

That night, the foundations of Atlantis would shake and the light trickles of water would become a flood. The land would be swallowed by sea, lost to legend and hearsay from that day onward. No one who looked for it would ever find the remnants of the destroyed city, and for thousands of years, no one would ever know the true reason for the great empire's fall.

Runa was running; faster than she had ever run before. Behind her, the land burned from the never-ending volley of lightning-bolts that struck the ground. The ear-splitting sound of thunder roared continuously around her, drowning out the desperate screams of her people. Her skirts whipped around her legs as she ran, chafing her legs like the stone Below.

Daring to glance behind her, she saw the shadowy figures beginning to separate themselves from the smoke and clouds that enveloped her city. Fear gripped her heart as she realized that she was the last; the only thing that stood between them and their goal—the complete annihilation of her people.

They were gaining fast. Ahead of her lay the boundary-line of her home. If she could only reach it—she knew of the many hidden flying contraptions that resided there and knew they were her only hope for survival now. If she could only reach them…

Her panic seemed to give her feet wings. Lifting her skirts, she put her all into one last burst of speed, leaping over the boundary line and into the holding field. Never slowing, her eyes quickly scanned for the nearest working machine. Triumph filled her chest as she spotted a prime one, just to her right, already set out on the runway and unblocked, ready to be used. Using her body's momentum, she leapt into the seat and placed her feet on the pedals, blatently ignoring the safety restraints for now. Those she could put on later, once she was out of their reach!

Her legs burned as she began to rotate the pedals; the contraption slowly moved forward, gaining speed as the wings began to adjust themselves for flight. Joy filled her chest; she was going to make it! Almost there…

Something struck against her escape vessel, jarring her forward into the steering mechanisms. Terror rose up once more and she found herself looking back and down into the eyes of the enemy. There was a sickening laugh, and then she felt the flying machine moving faster than it should have been. Fear gripped her as she realized the machine was moving faster than the wings and that her feet had completely frozen on the pedals, causing the wings to slow further.

Hopelessly, she realized what was happening. They were not going to use magic to destroy her as they had her people. Oh, no. They were going to push her off her home—her city—and allow her to fall to her death. Below was too far for her to be able to survive, and who knew what part of the Below they were hovering over now? For all she knew, she could end up in the middle of an ocean.

Her thoughts sputtered to a stop as she felt one last jarring push on the machine, then the stomach-lightening sense of falling. As if in slow motion, the machine toppled just enough so she could see the endless cloud-banks beneath her home.

And then she was falling though them, her stomach above her head and the cold air tightening like a noose around her neck. Black filled her vision, and with a flash of pure white light, her thoughts ended.

24 August 79 BC-Eruption of Vesuvius and distruction of Pompeii (Caecilius)

48 BC- Destruction of Library of Alexandria by Caesar (Cyril)

6000 BC- Sinking of Atlantas (Phia)

100 AD- Destruction of Laputa (Runa)


End file.
